


Why Tony Stark is Not a Therapist: A Case Study

by trill_gutterbug



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk Like Whoa, Graphic Descriptions of Sex with a Minor, I'm Not Even Joking- No Plot at ALL, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Roleplay, Seriously Don't Ever Do This (Unless Someone Asks You to...?), This is NOT How You Handle Someone Telling You About Sexual Abuse!, Tony Stark is an Enabler, Total and Complete and Irredeemable PWP, there is no plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I liked it, okay? I got screwed in the ass by my uncle when I was eleven, and I fucking liked it!” Steve said, vicious and haughty, and then burst into tears.</p><p>GREAT BIG TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR GRAPHIC DISCUSSION OF CHILD ABUSE (as you might expect from that summary).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Tony Stark is Not a Therapist: A Case Study

**Author's Note:**

> So, at an *ahem* penultimate moment of my sexual career the other day, I had this vividly technicolour, surround-sound image of Steve blurting out certain revelatory things about his childhood in a fit of passion. Once I had extricated myself from social duties and life obligations (locked all the doors, unplugged the phone, and pulled down the blinds), I started feverishly writing, and literally did not stop for 6.5 hours. I wrote 10,000 words of PURE SHAMELESS PORN without a single bathroom break or pause. And this shit is RAUNCHY, you guys, I'm not going to lie. This is absolutely the worst thing I've ever allowed to enter the public sphere. I'm... sort of proud? And sort of completely ashamed.
> 
> (But really, can't say this enough: REALLY, REALLY TRIGGERY! PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTIOUS DISCRETION!)

Steve was more pliant than Tony had expected, folding down onto the bed on his knees, resting back on the tossed heaps of pillows and untucked sheets Tony had crawled out of that morning.  
  
Tony leaned down over him, backed him up until he could plant his fists either side of Steve’s head, boxing him in. Steve’s pupils were dilated, his mouth wet, and the pink slash of his tongue darted out, instinctive, when Tony framed his jaw with thumb and forefinger.  
  
“You wanna roll over for me?” Tony murmured. He almost expected Steve to balk, to maybe shake his head and ask to slow down a bit. They were going pretty fast, after all, for how long it had taken them to get here (fucking _weeks_ , like woozy Catholic teenagers). But Steve complied almost immediately, the jut of his hips and the broad rounds of his shoulders pressing up into Tony as he flipped over, easy as a sleek arctic seal.  
  
Tony slid back down in increments, laying his palms flat against the middle of Steve’s spine, pressing him into the mattress with solid kneads of his fingers, loosening up the filaments of lingering tension, chasing it out with thumbs and the heels of his hands. He hadn’t taken those stupid masseur courses after college for nothing.  
  
Steve groaned-- Tony thought appreciatively-- and buried his face in the sheets, drawing his arms up to frame his own head. Tony had to pause for a second, just a second, and let his mouth get wet over the smooth ridges and saturated colors in every smooth divot of muscle. It was fucking ridiculous. He’d read all Howard’s old paperwork, and Erskine’s preliminary projections of the kind of physical enhancement a serum test subject might sustain. And Tony wasn’t too sure about his dad, who’d scrawled notes with the fervent piety of a man possessed by sheer elated discovery, but Erskine had sure as fuck been a dirty old bastard. The loving detail with which he’d sketched needlessly carnal aspects of the anticipated results (buttocks, thighs, deep hip lines bisected by a smudge of charcoal treasure trail) was pretty damning, all by itself. He must have creamed his tweedy trousers when Steve stumbled his sweaty glorious way out of the test pod.  
  
Tony put his hands on the dip of Steve’s lower back, and pressed in. His thumbs paralleled the dual mounds of asscheek. Steve’s green sweatpants were coming loose, bunched around his thighs and twisted along his waist. Tony brushed at the elastic with the pads of his thumbs, pushing it down ever so slightly.  
  
And then he had to lean in and put his mouth there, just at the faint beginning swell of muscle and perfect fucking skin. Steve made a muffled noise and pulled a pillow over his head, clenching it there with his great big hands, the veins in his forearms standing out blue and livid.  
  
Tony bit lightly, and licked twice, slid his mouth until he could feel the gentle dip where Steve’s crack began. He teethed it lightly, pushed his tongue along it, tasting sweat, and then drew back. He ran both hands slow and hard up Steve’s back, under the damp tee-shirt.  
  
“Can I take this off you?” he asked, quiet, coaxing.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said from beneath the pillow, tremulous and raw. He reached back and yanked the shirt up by himself, liberated his head from the pillow long enough to get it free, and then dove straight back under.  
  
Tony couldn’t contain a helpless grin. “You doing okay, there, big man?”  
  
Steve nodded, and his hips flexed under Tony, between his knees. “I’m fine,” he said, and turned his head to the side, so that Tony could see his nose and the side of his lips. “I’m okay, it’s good.”  
  
“Yeah, I can tell.” Tony buried his grin against the base of Steve’s spine, lazily rubbed his cheek there, drew back to admire the flush of stubble burn. “You’re doing good, don’t come out if you don’t want. I’m liking the view.”  
  
Steve smiled, Tony could see half of it, and hear it when he said, “I’m glad.”  
  
It made Tony twitch a little, the shy earnest note to the words. Like Steve was a ten year old taking his favourite teacher an apple, maybe the last one he had, and blushing frantically when the teacher declared it both beautiful and delicious. Like Steve’s body wasn’t something he owned, something intrinsic to himself, but an addendum; a new and shiny toy he could maybe share with the class, if the cool kids would let him.  
  
Tony slipped his thumbs back under the edge of the sweatpants. He didn’t ask permission this time, just nudged them down. An inch, maybe two; that was all he needed right now. Just far enough so he could see where the muscle started to curve back in, two gutwrenching hollows of muscle pale and smooth, like Steve had never heard of tanning in his life. Probably hadn’t. Tony didn’t think that had really been a thing, back in the day.  
  
He let his mouth open over the base of Steve’s spine, tasted the two dimples there, soothed the layered trembling underneath with his tongue. Steve’s breath was ragged in the sheets, and his eyes were shut tight.  
  
Tony rubbed two fingers around his waist, found the beginning of one ridged hip cut, and followed it down until he hit mattress. Steve rocked a little to the side, giving him more room. Tony took it, and slipped his fingers into the hot space between Steve’s belly and the mattress, turned his palm up to cup flesh. Goddamn, that was some delineation. He traced the soft ninety-degree angle of an abdominal muscle, pushed in further until he found the shallow indent of navel.  
  
“You ever touch yourself here?” he murmured into Steve’s spine, lips smeary and soft against the smothered knobs of bone.  
  
“What?” Steve breathed, and then started panting, as though opening his mouth even for that instant had catalyzed something frantic and overheated in his ribcage. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Right here.” Tony pushed a little, just to emphasise his point, the tip of one finger in Steve’s navel and the rest of his hand cradling jumpy muscle.  
  
“No. I mean… yeah, but…”  
  
“I mean when you jerk off.”  
  
“Oh, God,” Steve groaned. “Don’t--”  
  
Tony let one tooth press sharp into Steve’s spine, just a little baby punishment. “Don’t say that. Tell me about it, about when you jerk off. I know you do. Everybody does.”  
  
“People jerked off in the forties too, Tony,” Steve growled, but the riotous flush up the whole side of his face gave him away.  
  
“Yeah, of course they did. They’ve been doing it a lot longer than that, actually. Did I ever tell you I once took an elective course on prehistoric human sexuality? I wrote a paper and everything. I mean, the research probably took longer than strictly necessary, but I did a whole museum tour of those little fat fertility goddess figurines, and there’s something kind of weirdly hot about that after a while, if you’re fifteen and you’re thinking about it from the right direction, and you’ve technically never gotten laid. I probably spent more time in the museum bathrooms than anywhere else, come to think of it.”  
  
Steve moaned, “Uh huh.”  
  
Tony shook himself, kissed Steve’s back. “But we're talking about you.” He let his fingers move, just a twitch, just enough to remind Steve exactly what parts of him they were talking about. “Do you like doing it in the shower, or in bed? You probably didn’t get much chance before, in the army, right? So many other guys around. Or, maybe… did you like that? All those big burly men, probably snoring right next to you, walking around in their shorts, all sweaty and hairy and brawny.” Tony paused, spread his knees a little against the bed. He was already hard like wow, and talking had always been his weak point in the sack. It probably turned him on more than whoever he was trying to fuck.  
  
But Steve didn’t seem to mind. He was still panting sort of desperately, and his hips had started grinding in tiny circles. “Yeah,” he breathed.  
  
“Yeah?” Tony put his free hand on the back of Steve’s thigh, slid up until his thumb was tucked into the crease of buttock and leg, and squeezed. “Yeah what? You liked rubbing one out with all those big beefy guys to hear you? Were you really quiet, or did you let it slip sometimes? Did you ever hear them doing it, too?”  
  
“Yeah, yes, oh God,” Steve said. His eyes were shut so tight his forehead was wrinkling up, his hair wildly messed. “I heard them and-- and I think they heard me, too. I tried to be quiet, I did--”  
  
“You’re such a good boy, I know.”  
  
“…I tried to be quiet, but sometimes I couldn’t. After-- after the serum, everything was so much more. I mean, I could feel things better.”  
  
Tony perked up, twin explosions of discovery both erotic and empirical crossing wires somewhere in his brain. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation. “You were more sensitive?”  
  
“Kind of.” Steve was sort of mumbling now, wiggling, losing his train of thought. Tony realized his hand had continued to move of its own volition, his finger massaging slow circles deep into Steve’s navel. “I paid more attention, I guess. Sometimes it felt so good, I just…”  
  
“Lost track?” Tony didn’t wait for an answer, and moved the hand that was cupping Steve’s thigh, slipping his thumb farther into the warm crevice where Steve’s balls were hidden. He brushed them through the sweatpants, and Steve jerked in a whole-body shudder, his belly seizing up against Tony’s other hand.  
  
“I, yes, I sort of, aw geez, I--”  
  
“Okay, shush,” Tony said, having mercy. “Be quiet for a bit, let me just talk to you.”  
  
“Okay,” Steve echoed, sounding pathetically grateful.  
  
Tony stroked the delicate shape of balls through the sweatpants, just the pad of his thumb circling over and over. He could feel how tight they were, prickled up with gooseflesh and sucked in to the base of Steve’s dick, swollen up and ready to blow.  
  
“Has anyone ever gone down on you?” he asked. “I know, I told you to be quiet--”  
  
“Uh huh,” Steve said. “Just a couple times.”  
  
“Good, then you’ll have a basis for comparison.” Tony was totally unrepentant about how smug he sounded. That human sexuality course hadn’t just given him a few extra (unnecessary) credits toward graduation; his guilt-stricken TA had provided some… points of his own, as well. And okay, that double entendre was a little labored, even unspoken. It had been a good academic start, that’s all, and Tony had done and redone the extracurricular homework over the ensuing years until he felt confident classifying himself as a semi-pro. “Pro” smacked a little too much of hookers, work ethic be damned.  
  
“What about your ass?” he continued, a little quieter, so that his breath gusted over that tiny bare beginning of Steve’s crack. “You ever been eaten out?”  
  
Steve’s one visible eye flew open. He lifted his head, craned awkwardly to stare at Tony over his shoulder. “What the hell do you mean?” he demanded.  
  
Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Didn’t we just talk about this? People weren’t saints in the forties, Mr. Rogers. Oh, God, whoa, never let me call you that in bed again. Jesus. Never mind, I’ll explain later. Ugh.”  
  
Steve was blushing even harder than before, now, brows furrowed. Tony quickly backtracked. “I don’t mean _ugh_ , ugh. Not you, sorry. But I know this act has existed from time immemorial. When Gilgamesh was running around Uruk, people were rimming each other, no bullshit.” He didn’t actually know that for a fact; ass-to-mouth wasn’t one of those things that had gotten a lot of exposure in the historically relevant literature he’d studied. “I want to know if anyone’s ever done it to you. Any of those groupies who followed you around the States? If they went down on you, they couldn’t have been all that prim and proper.”  
  
Steve shook his head, slow and deliberate. “No one’s ever done that to me.”  
  
“Sweet,” Tony said. He gave Steve’s thigh another squeeze. “Lay back down. I’m not going to do anything weird without telling you first. Deal?”  
  
“Deal,” Steve mumbled, sinking slowly back into the bedding. He closed his eyes after a moment, only cracking them open suspiciously once. Tony liberated his hand from beneath Steve’s stomach and tapped his bare hip.  
  
“Can you roll back over? Bring your pillow, if you want.”  
  
Steve complied, still with his eyes shut, and didn’t bring the pillow, but laid one forearm across his face like a blindfold. Tony couldn’t help the spasm of inexplicable fondness that made his face do something bizarre, like a smile.  
  
But now he was _looking_ at Steve’s fucking amazing stomach and chest, and the sinewy way they led up into one bare armpit, dark with damp blond hair, and the obscene bulge of bicep and tricep. Tony arranged himself so that he was straddling Steve’s knees, and shimmied down just enough that his cock could press against one calf. Steve shuddered when he did that, and moved back up against Tony, rubbing him artlessly.  
  
Tony hummed in appreciation, rubbed his hands up Steve’s belly and touched his nipples. They got hard instantly, and made themselves irresistible for pinching. Steve flinched, which was sort of adorable, and sort of fucking hot. Tony lifted himself up and bent over to have a lick.  
  
Steve put a hand on his back, the one that wasn’t covering his eyes, and held him there. Tony let himself go pliant, move where Steve pushed him, which wasn’t far. Just a few inches up, until Tony’s mouth was on the underside of Steve’s chin, and he spent a minute right there, sucking just gently enough not to bruise. And then up a bit more, following the curve of bone, to suck Steve’s earlobe and the point of his jaw.  
  
“Can I kiss you?” Steve whispered.  
  
Tony pulled back. “Of course,” he said.  
  
Steve took his face in both hands and touched their mouth together, the lightest press that Tony automatically tried to intensify. But Steve pulled back, shook his head, and came in again, just as soft. He sucked Tony’s bottom lip, the corner of his mouth, and finally slipped his tongue in, just to touch at Tony’s front teeth. The delicate way he did it, half exploratory and half luxurious, made a shiver claw a path down Tony’s spine. He had a bad habit these days of not slowing down to enjoy the ride. There was always somewhere to go, something to do, some _one_ else to do…  
  
And Steve probably hadn’t had much chance to go slow, ever. Tony didn’t imagine girls in the forties tended to be big on parading guys back to their apartments and taking a couple hours with them. Most of Steve’s experience had probably been more along the lines of supply closets and behind outhouses. Ugh.  
  
Tony opened his mouth a bit wider, let Steve decide when to make things heavier. It didn’t take long, good intentions aside. Steve was sucking Tony’s tongue in no time, harder and deeper until it ached at the root, a good sharp ache that made Tony rub his cock into Steve’s knee, get a double fistful of his short hair and pin him into the mattress, tongue fuck his mouth until Steve couldn’t breathe and they were both drippy with spit, overheated and squirming.  
  
Tony drew back in a rush. “Okay, fuck, sorry, I have to suck your cock,” he said. “Just hold on.”  
  
Steve groaned as Tony retreated, sliding down his body. His cock was a huge rigid pole in his pants, perfectly outlined against the material. Tony unbuttoned his own jeans on the way, kicked them viciously off the end of the bed. Room for expansion fucking required.  
  
He wanted to take more time getting Steve naked, slide the pants down in increments and suck hickeys into every goddamn inch of skin on the way, but things were getting desperate. He needed cock in his mouth right fucking now.  
  
But he did pause long enough to suck at Steve for a moment through the pants, get them all soppy and clingy, push the flat of his tongue against the head and use his teeth just a bit. Steve convulsed at that, both hands flying up to cover his face.  
  
Tony slipped his fingers under the waistband of the pants, lifted them clear out of the way so there would be no unfortunate snagging. And then there, oh right fucking there, was Steve’s glorious cock. Erskine’s speculative doodling hadn’t even come close. It was better and sweeter than Tony could have imagined and-- God be praised-- uncut. Although hard enough now that the foreskin was peeled almost all the way back, exposing the soft pink of the broad head, and the tiny perfect slit at the top.  
  
Tony put his mouth reverently around the whole thing, and if Steve had convulsed before, Tony didn’t even know what to call this reaction, this shudder and spastic clench of the entire body. Steve’s hands flew down and dug into Tony’s hair, twisting it up, and then just as suddenly releasing.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve gasped, “sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Tony tried to say with his mouth full, and caught Steve’s hand to put it back on his head, illustrating what he wasn’t coordinated enough to speak. Later, he’d tell Steve he liked it, having his hair pulled and his face fucked. And sometimes he liked laying on his back and letting someone pound the shit out of his mouth, too, with his arms trapped against his sides and barely able to breathe--  
  
His cock flexed in his boxers, shamelessly begging. He ignored it.  
  
The tip of Steve’s cock was getting wet already, trickling onto the back of Tony’s tongue. He could have done a jig of happiness; not many guys were big deliverers of precum, which was one of those few things guaranteed to make Tony pretty much jizz his pants without mercy. He swallowed, and retreated just far enough to flick his tongue right into the slit, test how far he could get inside.  
  
“Ah, damnit!” Steve said. “Fuck!”  
  
Tony’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t stop to kibitz; that sort of reaction deserved positive reinforcement, which he provided in the form of sliding two fingers under Steve’s balls, rubbing up against the skin there. Steve started whining, a gasping vulnerable sound that made Tony push even harder, use his thumb to stroke Steve’s balls, separating them gently in the sac.  
  
“Please, oh God,” Steve said. “Tony, I think I’m-- I think I’m going to come.”  
  
All at once, Tony pulled back. Took away his hands, his mouth, and got onto his knees so that Steve couldn’t even push up against him.  
  
“No, what--” Steve begged. “What are you doing?”  
  
“No coming yet,” Tony said. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. We’re doing this all the way today, if you want, and it’ll be better if you don’t come before.”  
  
Steve’s head fell back into the mattress, and his throat worked through a half dozen swallows before he could speak again. “I want to,” he said. “All the way.”  
  
Tony swallowed a giggle. It was like prom night all over again, except he’d been fourteen at prom, and hadn’t managed to get lucky because even preppy private school eighteen-year-olds had more dignity than that. It had been completely tragic, and he might have cried some manly tears.  
  
“Sounds good,” he said, and smacked Steve’s thigh. “Roll over again for me, champ.”  
  
Steve hesitated, half turned, when he saw Tony flinging off the last of his own clothes. “Can I--” He reached out, and Tony let him get his fill for about a minute, big hands gentle but insistent on Tony’s cock, his nipples, the insides of his thighs. It tickled, and felt fucking fantastic, but that advice about not coming went both ways. Gently, he pushed Steve’s hands away and nudged him over onto his belly.  
  
It was even better this time than before, with perfect nakedness right there in his face. He folded down into the space between Steve’s legs, squeezed two handfuls of ass. “Remember I said I’d warn you before I did anything weird?”  
  
Steve nodded, still sort of twisted to watch.  
  
“Here’s your three-second warning,” Tony said.  
  
“God, oh no,” Steve mumbled, but this time didn’t hide behind any pillows. He watched as Tony spread his cheeks, tucking both thumbs in near the base of his balls and stroking up, separating and--  
  
Fucking hell. Tony had to just lay there for a moment and calm himself down. He definitely didn’t deserve this. Or maybe he did. He’d signed a lot of checks for charity this year, and Iron Man had been plenty busy in the Third World arena; God had to dish up the goods sometime, right?  
  
“You ready?” Tony breathed, more to see the reaction of gooseflesh, and Steve’s full-body twitch, than because he actually wanted to know. He didn’t really care if Steve was ready; he was getting it either way.  
  
“Sure, okay,” Steve said.  
  
Tony licked him. Right up the middle. Set his tongue down in the tightest crease, and drew it all the way up, flat and wet. He paused at the top, sucked a bit at the side of one cheek, and then pushed back in, slipped all the way down.  
  
Steve punched the bed. “That’s weird,” he gasped. “That’s so fucking weird.”  
  
“Bad weird?”  
  
“No-- no.” He shook his head. “It’s-- it’s okay, keep going.”  
  
Tony chuckled. “Well, if it’s all the same to you.”  
  
This time, he stopped in the middle, found the tiny twitch of Steve’s hole and lingered on it, stroked it with the tip of his tongue over and over until it relaxed just incrementally, just enough to notice. And then he went down further, put both hands under Steve’s hips to push them up and open, and sucked the flat place behind his balls. Took each ball into his mouth, too, as much as he could. They were pretty big.  
  
Steve was easing up onto his elbows, Tony noticed. It arched his spine, opened his ass beautifully. That _definitely_ deserved reinforcement. Tony put his mouth back over Steve’s hole, sealed his lips there and just breathed for a moment, letting the anticipation climb. Waited until Steve pushed back into him, a sinewy motion of his pelvis, before going in with his tongue again, finding the very center of his hole and nudging at it, breaching it by millimetres. And then out again, just as it went soft to let him in. A few solid strokes with the flat of his tongue, getting everything nice and slick.  
  
“Why are you doing that?” Steve pleaded. His hands were fists on the mattress, knotted with sheets and blankets.  
  
“You taste fucking good,” Tony said.  
  
“No, I mean… why are you... stopping?”  
  
Tony laughed. “Because it makes you want it more. You want me in your hole so bad, don’t you? You want me to just fuck right in there and let you have it, right?”  
  
Steve nodded. He was almost on his knees, now, head hanging low, hair dark with sweat.    
  
“I’m going to,” Tony promised. “I will. Just give me time. Rushing is no good. You’ll thank me later.”  
  
“I’d thank you now,” Steve said, almost to himself.  
  
Tony grinned, and let it be. But Steve was so good for asking, for talking about what he wanted; Tony let him have six full licks for that, each one dipping deeper inside. With one hand, he reached around Steve’s hip and circled his cock. It jerked immediately, and Steve nearly fell on his face going down on one shoulder and wrapping his other hand around Tony’s.  
  
“Show me how you like it,” Tony murmured, and took a vocabulary chance. “Show me how you like to masturbate your big fucking penis.”  
  
Steve squeezed his fingers and pushed them down low, to the base. They twisted on the way back up, and rolled right over the head. It was soaked, and Tony felt the foreskin bunch up, full of precum. God, he wanted that in his mouth. After, maybe, after Steve had nutted off all over himself, Tony would go down on his oversensitive prick and lick all the juice out of the folds, clean him right out while he whimpered and tried to push Tony’s head away. Fuck.  
  
But he was doing something else with his mouth right now, something Steve was pretty desperate for if the unsubtle gyrations of his ass were any indication. Tony got back to work, and didn’t restrain himself this time. Steve was jerking off hard with Tony’s hand, and he’d have to pay attention to that, make sure it didn’t go too far, but right now--  
  
He circled Steve’s hole a few teasing times, tongued it up the middle, and then went straight inside. With his whole face crammed right into Steve’s crack, he got in at least an inch, and he knew from experience what a frustrating amount that was, so fucking good, but not _enough_. It had to be good in other ways, and he made it so, rubbing and licking on the inside, stimulating the tight ring, thrusting in and out like the world’s tiniest, wettest cock. Steve started making noise, a long keening sound broken up by a growling gnash of teeth every time he rubbed the palm of Tony’s hand over the tip of his cock.  
  
Tony didn’t think he could take it much longer himself. He needed to cram his cock up this hole as soon as humanly possible. He contented himself with another minute of licking, thrashing the slick wet entrance into submission, pressing it open again and again until it gaped on its own, soft and begging.  
  
He reared back and bit one cheek hard. Steve yelped and dropped Tony’s hand.  
  
“Night stand,” Tony instructed, pointing. “Get lube and condoms.”  
  
Steve had to shimmy on his belly to do so, and Tony was worried for a second that he’d just keep humping the bed and go off all over the place, but Steve was good; he fumbled out a condom, threw it over his shoulder, and then vacillated frantically between some legitimate skin lotion, an emergency tube of toothpaste, a bottle of 3-in-1 engine oil, and the actual lube, before Tony had mercy and told him which was which.  
  
It wasn’t long, after that; Tony was hot and raring to go, but he still had lots of practice and a hell of a lot of theory on his side. He got on the condom, turned Steve’s ass into a squelching river of strawberry-flavored slick, and then took a moment for appreciative reflection, poised on his knees between Steve’s thighs with his dick a bare inch from home run.  
  
“You ever had someone in here before?” he asked, teasing, and rubbed his thumb over Steve’s twitchy hole.  
  
At first, Steve didn’t answer, and Tony thought that was due to a basic situational inability to speak, but then Steve said, small and quiet, “Yes.”  
  
Tony stopped, one palm flat on the bed, about to push his dick into Steve’s virgin ass, and wait--  
  
“Huh?” he said. “Wait, you have?”  
  
Steve lay perfectly still, and then shifted slightly, shoulders bunching up. “Once,” he told the bed. “Just once.”  
  
Tony grinned, slow and dirty. “Steve, you dog. Why don’t you tell me about it? Who was it?” He stroked Steve’s hole again, because it was starting to tighten up, and he didn’t want that. “Was it one of those giant Commando guys? Did you ride him?”  
  
“…No,” Steve said.  
  
“Okay, so tell me what happened.” Tony pushed his hips forward so that his head rubbed behind Steve’s balls. “Someone put their cock up your ass, we’ve got that much. You weren’t on top?”  
  
Steve shook his head. The back of his neck was going bright red. Aw, baby. After all this, a bit of storytelling could still make him blush.  
  
“On your knees?”  
  
Another shake.  
  
“Your stomach?”  
  
A nod.  
  
Tony shivered. “Flat on your stomach, pushing your cock against something, I bet. One of those army cots, with the scratchy blankets, too much on your--”  
  
Steve was shaking his head again.  
  
Tony let his cock nudge up against Steve’s hole, just start to get inside. “No, okay. Outside, in the woods, where anyone might have-- No?”  
  
“On our sofa,” Steve mumbled.  
  
Our. Our? “Our?” Tony asked.  
  
“My… my Mom’s.”  
  
Oh, great, dead family. Fucksticks. Tony quickly got the subject changed. “I like getting fucked on my stomach, too,” he said, aiming for suave and confidential. “It’s sort of vulnerable, and you can just lay there and take it.” He slipped his dick down, so that it was wedged into the crease between Steve’s balls and thigh. Pushed in and out a few times. He leaned down over Steve’s back, kissed the nape of his neck. “So this was before the war, right? Before the serum?”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
Aw, shit, hold on a second.  
  
Tony knew about Bucky Barnes, had read all the military reports and the comic books, and that was a whole kettle of nettles he did not want to stir up. Sure, Barnes had died seventy years ago, but to Steve, it was only eight months. Tony knew about grief, and although he’d never lost a lover, he could imagine what it must be like. Maybe this wasn’t such a good topic for dirty talking after all.  
  
And then Steve said, “It was-- it was my uncle.”  
  
Tony froze. The clock on the wall stopped ticking. He could physically feel the blood drain from his face. “Excuse me?” he said.  
  
Steve’s shoulders bunched further. His thighs slid incrementally closer together. “Sorry,” he blurted, “that was stupid to say, I’m really sorry. Forget I mentioned it, I was just--” Tony watched him reach for the pillow, curl his fingers in the case and start to tug it closer. Reflexively, Tony reached out to stop him.  
  
“Hold on,” he said. “Did I seriously just hear you right? Your uncle? Oh, my God, how old were you?”  
  
The back of Steve’s neck was fiery red, and his next words were almost illegible, spoken straight into the bed. “I was eleven. It’s okay, it wasn’t a big deal--”  
  
Tony dropped back on his haunches. His face wasn’t the only place losing blood; the condom was starting to feel distinctly baggier. “What the fuck do you mean, it wasn’t a big deal? That’s a big fucking deal.”  
  
He realized too late how harsh his voice sounded. Steve visibly flinched, curled up and started to turn over on his side. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry I mentioned it. It’s fine, I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
Tony put one hand on Steve’s arm, petted it a bit frantically. “No, no, I’m sorry. That’s a shitty reaction on my part. I shouldn’t talk to you like that.”  
  
Steve started to relax, and then his eyes flicked lower and caught how Tony wasn’t exactly hard anymore, and he went so red Tony started to worry about burst blood vessels. “I’m such an idiot,” Steve muttered. It was so sharp, so low and obviously meant only for himself, that Tony caught his breath.  
  
“Hey, no you’re not,” he said. He leaned down and touched one finger under Steve’s chin, tilted him up for a kiss. “Um, sexual abuse, you know, it can happen to anybody. It doesn’t make you… less of a man, or anything.”  
  
Steve looked at him strangely. “I know that.”  
  
“Okay, good.” Tony rubbed both hands down his own thighs, twice, three times. “So, I know a lot of good therapists.”  
  
“That’s nice.” Steve finished rolling onto his side, one leg still drawn up to cover his cock, and Tony had to slide sideways to make room. He tried to inconspicuously take off the condom, but Steve saw anyway, and closed his eyes like slamming a gate.  
  
Tony cringed, and eased down onto the mattress beside him. “Therapists, you know,” his mouth said all on its own, “they’re good at what they do. And I only go to the best. The best of the best. Not that they ever helped me, but I think that’s more my fault than theirs, right?”  
  
Steve somehow managed to get the pillow in between them, and mashed it over his face. His red ears stuck out. He mumbled something like, “I guess.”  
  
Tony rubbed his shoulder, let his hand slip down onto one bare sweaty side, and traced some nice muscle lines to give himself time to think. “If you want to talk about it with me, that’s okay, too,” he offered. “Whatever makes you comfortable. It can be weird telling a complete stranger about your life, but also kind of liberating, you know?”  
  
Steve didn’t answer, and Tony could already feel himself going down in great big raging flames of mortification and bad taste, so he did what he did in the suit, when everything was going to shit and he didn’t know which way was up; he just kept flying.  
  
“There’s this one really awesome chick, her name’s Samantha-something. I think we spent the whole hour talking about her scale-model roller coaster collection, so you might like her. She’s got a thing about old cars, which is sort of relevant, huh?”  
  
Steve said, “Tony, I don’t want to talk to a therapist about it.”  
  
Tony hesitated. “Are you sure? Bottling up these kinds of things can be deadly, I hear. Columbine, that kind of thing. Wow, fuck, not appropriate material, Stark. Actually, you probably don’t know a thing about Columbine, do you? What I’m trying to say is that, and trust me, I know, childhood trauma isn’t a good thing to pack around. It fucks you up in ways you don’t even expect. One second you’re fine, and the next you see a turtle and you’re screaming, Daddy don’t hit me. Not that that’s ever happened to me. I like turtles, and Howard never hit me--”  
  
“Tony!” Steve barked, still mostly into the pillow. “Would you shut up? I’m not traumatised. I’m perfectly fine.”  
  
Tony chuckled, hysterical and not meaning it. “That’s what you think right now, but you never know what can happen down the road. Take this one time when I--”  
  
“I liked it!”  
  
The words were so loud, so astonishing, that Tony was startled into complete silence. He stared at Steve, the huge bright eyes above the crushed pillow, and didn’t dare breath.  
  
“I liked it, okay? I got screwed in the ass by my uncle when I was eleven, and I fucking liked it!” Steve said, vicious and haughty, and then burst into tears.  
  
Tony was such a fucking douchebag that he just sat there for a full five seconds, gaping and totally thrown, with one hand still mid-gesture, hanging between them. And then pure instinct took over. He folded Steve up in both arms, pulled him in as tight as physically possible, and buried his face against the shuddering join of neck and shoulder.  
  
Steve clutched him back, shaking with the force of his sobs, and got Tony’s hair full of tears and snot. It was totally fine.  
  
As it turned out, apparently guys didn’t cry as long as girls did, which was a huge fucking relief. They had it toned down to sniffles in a matter of minutes, and then Steve took a deep quavering breath and pulled back to scrub his face on the pillow, which Tony dutifully pushed away once its purpose was served.  
  
“So,” he said carefully, once Steve was resettled. “So that was… a revelation?” He made sure to smile a bit, although it felt like a rictus, so Steve wouldn’t start crying again.  
  
“I can’t believe I said that,” Steve replied, but he sounded more wondrous than self-effacing, like he literally had never expected the words to come out of his mouth. Admittedly, he probably hadn’t.  
  
Tony let himself pet Steve’s back in long, soothing motions. Pepper had once told him that was the thing to do when she was upset, and Tony figured Steve couldn’t be all that different. They were actually scarily similar people on a certain level. Maybe Tony had a bit of a type.  
  
“What did I say about these things just exploding one day?” Tony smiled again, nervous, careful and nonthreatening.  
  
But Steve was still talking as though Tony hadn’t said anything, like the floodgates had been opened. “I was eleven, and my uncle was staying with us for a while, because there was no work, and he'd lost his house.”  
  
Jesus, Tony didn’t want to hear this. It was the same feeling he got when he was watching National Geographic documentaries and just knew the cute little antelope was about to get shredded by the big nasty cheetah. Sick and slightly cold, skin crawling. Except here, he couldn’t just switch the channel.  
  
He put his hand on Steve’s chest. “Hold on,” he said. “Are you sure you want to tell me about this?”  
  
Steve chewed on his bottom lip. His eyes, although red and a bit swollen, were clear. “You don’t want to hear it?”  
  
Tony opened his mouth, and then shut it. Fuck, he _had_ said. “I just…” He decided to go with the truth. “I don’t want to hear about you getting hurt. It’s going to piss me off, and there’s no one I can even go beat up for it.”  
  
Steve’s eyes got suspiciously watery again, but not in an upset way. “But I just told you, I wasn’t hurt.”  
  
“Oh, come on, don’t give me that. There’s no way being raped as a child doesn’t--”  
  
Steve took his hand, and drew it down his body. Slipped it in between his legs. Wrapped it around his… His incredibly hard cock. His incredibly hard, incredibly _wet_ cock, oh wow.  
  
“Oh, wow,” Tony breathed. “You’re not joking.”  
  
“Why would I joke about that?” His tone distinctly implied ‘you sick bastard.’  
  
“I don’t know, it just seems… Unlikely?” Tony barely caught himself on the verge of saying ‘weird.’  
  
Steve slid his upper leg over Tony’s hip, and shyly tugged him in closer. He had a light like mania in his eyes. “I know, it’s weird. Trust me, I know. I've got... issues. I thought maybe the serum would fix this kind of thing. This--” He gestured between himself and Tony, which Tony translated to mean ‘This whole bisexuality thing’ which hey, was a little insulting, but before he could form a rebuttal, Steve continued, “--and the other part. The really sick part. I liked it when he-- when he fucked me, and I liked thinking about it for years after. I jerked off _so many times_ over it, Tony, oh my God.”  
  
“Oh, my God,” Tony echoed, groaning, because Steve was using his hand to rub off on, curled tight around the soaking shaft.  
  
“I put my own fingers in my ass all the time, thinking about it.” Steve’s voice had dropped to a whisper, hot and secretive. “I put this big wooden salt shaker up there, once.”  
  
“Fwaaah?” said Tony.  
  
“It hurt a bit, but it was almost right.”  
  
There was no hiding it at this point; Tony was hard and getting harder. His hips moved all by themselves, and his cock brushed up against Steve’s. They both gasped in tandem, and Steve, like the little nympho he apparently was, slyly unwound Tony’s hand from his own dick, and guided it around the both of them together. And that was-- yeah, okay. That was something, alright.  
  
“Can I talk about it?” Steve asked, soft, pleading. “If you say no, I’ll understand. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”  
  
Tony hesitated, but his mouth was doing that speaking-for-him thing again. “It’s… fine,” he said.  
  
And it was, somehow. Although very much not fine, it was fine because Steve said it was, because it wasn’t Tony’s story. It wasn’t his business to say whether Steve should get turned on by it. The same way no one else got to say shit about Iron Man, and what the suit might mean for Tony’s state of mind. It was their own thing, their own special set of neuroses. Right? Right. Sure.  
  
“It’s fine,” he repeated, more firmly. “Talk about it. Tell me about it. You want me to say anything?”  
  
Steve shrugged with one shoulder, but his face said ‘yes.’  
  
“So he was staying with us,” Steve whispered, and rubbed both their cocks from base to tip. “My Mom worked during the day, wherever she could. Mostly at the hospital. My uncle didn’t work. He was pretty much a useless drunk, and my dad was already dead.”  
  
Tony didn’t say anything at all about that, and thankfully Steve went quickly on. “But I liked him. He played with me after school, and told me stories. He’d been in the big war, and he told me about that, too.”  
  
“What was his name?” Tony asked.  
  
“Cyrus.”  
  
Tony made a face.  
  
“It was a perfectly normal name at the time,” Steve said. “Be quiet.”  
  
“I didn’t--” Tony protested, but Steve stroked them twice, three times, and that train of thought completely derailed.  
  
“There was this one day, mom was working pretty late. She’d lucked out with an extra shift. I was laying on the couch, drawing on the back of a newspaper, I remember that. I drew over a photo of President Coolidge.”  
  
“You little anarchist.”  
  
Steve ducked his head, pursing his mouth. Tony couldn’t help it; he had to kiss that lovely mouth, and then do it again, until Steve was sighing and thrusting erratically from the hips, knocking their cocks into Tony’s belly, making it sticky.  
  
“I fell asleep there,” Steve said into Tony’s mouth. “I was wearing these huge baggy pants that had been my dad’s. I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up, Uncle Cyrus was sitting there beside me.”  
  
“How were you laying?” Tony asked. He could almost picture it, skinny little baby Steve with hair too long, swimming in Mickey Mouse pants.  
  
“On my belly.” Steve paused, let his thumb glide back and forth over the heads of their cocks, smearing his precum all over Tony. “I was on my belly, and he came and sat by my feet. I woke up because he put my legs in his lap. He started rubbing my feet, which was nice, because I was still sort of growing at the time, and I hurt everywhere. We didn't have enough… Well, anyway, I hurt. And he knew that, so he’d give me massages sometimes.”  
  
“Nice guy,” said Tony, meaning the opposite. If Steve noticed or cared, he didn’t let on.  
  
“I didn’t say anything, so I don’t know if he even knew I was awake. He put his hands up inside the legs of my pants, and rubbed my calves, and the backs of my knees.”  
  
Tony swallowed, and kissed Steve again, mostly just a mess of licks.  
  
“He kept going up higher,” Steve continued, hushed. “Higher and higher, until his arm was all the way in my pants, and he was holding my ass on one side, just holding it. He must have known I was awake then, I guess. I was really hard, Tony, oh my God, was I hard. I had thought about boys before-- like that, about sex, and it scared me a lot. But this wasn’t scary. I knew Uncle Cyrus, and I didn’t think anything he did was really wrong.”  
  
Tony nodded. He felt like he should probably contribute, but his throat was so dry. He worked for a moment before speaking. “With your feet in his lap, could you feel his dick? Was he turned on?”  
  
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know, I don’t remember. Probably. He held my ass for a while, kind of kneading and squeezing it. I was wearing underwear, and he pushed them up, so they were wedged into my crack, and he was rubbing my bare ass.”  
  
“God,” Tony said, involuntary. Steve’s voice was dropping lower and lower, but he didn’t sound ashamed. He sounded thrilled, panicky, like he was reading from a naughty magazine and didn’t want to get busted.  
  
“He did sort of what you did earlier, put his thumb between my legs and touched my balls. They were really sensitive when I was that age, like the lightest touch would hurt, but he was gentle. My dick was sort of bent under me, so the tip was down there too, and he touched it. I nearly went right off.”  
  
 _Tony_ nearly went right off, just hearing it. He put his free hand down and stilled Steve’s long strokes. “Hold on,” he said, before Steve could get worried. “Slow down a bit. I’m getting too close.”  
  
Steve smiled sort of lop-sided. “Sure, okay. Can I keep talking?”  
  
“Go for it.” Tony kissed him once more, helpless not to. “You sound so good when you talk,” he admitted. “I seriously didn’t think you had it in you.”  
  
“Neither did I.” Steve shivered all over, and Tony groaned at the feel of a fresh glut of precum squirting from Steve’s dick all over his own. He had to get his mouth down there soon, Christ.  
  
“He touched my dick and my balls for a few minutes, until I was shaking, I was so turned on, and I didn’t want to say anything. And then he took his hand out, and I was disappointed, because I’d been really close. He said, ‘Let’s get these things off,’ and he started pulling down my pants.” Steve took a slow breath, and gave their cocks a half-tug, like he’d forgotten he wasn’t supposed to.  
  
“He took the pants right off, and pulled my underwear down around my thighs. I had a really tiny ass back then, and he got most of it in one hand. He squeezed me really hard, and then pulled it open and-- and I guess looked. He swore, anyway, and I asked what was wrong. He said nothing, that it… that it looked good.”  
  
“Aw, Jesus,” Tony said. “It does look good, Steve. It fucking does. Good enough to eat. I want my tongue back in there.” He almost made an abortive move, but Steve grabbed his arm and stopped him.  
  
“Later, maybe?” he said. “If you still want?”  
  
“I’ll still want, I swear to God.”  
  
“Can I jerk off again?”  
  
Tony nodded. “Just go slow.”  
  
Steve obeyed, looking tortured. “So, anyway, he got out from under my legs, and I kicked off my underwear. I didn’t want to spread my legs, but he held my ankles apart and did it for me anyway. He-- he looked up between my legs, and then he leaned down and licked the tip of my cock, where it was sticking out by my balls. He licked it for a while, maybe a couple of minutes, and told me that was a blowjob, sort of. I can’t believe I even remember him saying that, I was so out of it. He spat on my asshole. It sounded really gross, and I didn’t know why he did it.”  
  
Tony groaned, “I know why.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I know why now, too.” Steve sort of chuckled, catchy and breathless. “Hey, um, can I ask you something weird?”  
  
Tony drew back and fixed Steve with the most incredulous look he could possibly muster. And he’d had professional training. “You must be kidding. There’s something weirder than this?”  
  
Steve hesitated, wincing, and Tony hastened to add, “I mean yes, ask away. Please. Anything. The worst I’ll say is no, I promise.”  
  
“Would you, uh, would you have sex with me, while I tell you this part?”  
  
Tony looked down at where their cocks were fast on their way to becoming bosom companions. “What do you think this is, pal? Sewing circle? Book club? I might have been more into that shit when I was younger, if it went like this.”  
  
“No, I mean, actually up my ass. Would you screw me for this part?”  
  
“Oh, uhhh…” God, was that crossing a line? That had to be the line, right? Or was that the line way the fuck back there, receding cheerily into the distance? He shrugged. “Sure, why not? In for a penny, or whatever.”  
  
Steve let go of them, and Tony wasn’t quite self-possessed enough to restrain himself from bending over and sucking at him for a second, just long enough to get the taste of precum all through his mouth, roll up the foreskin around his tongue and feel Steve jerk against him. Steve pushed at his forehead. “Careful,” he whispered. “I’m really close, too.”  
  
Tony drew back reluctantly, tonguing the hole a slutty farewell, and crawled over behind Steve, who rolled back onto his belly and lifted himself up, just the perfect position to slide right inside. He was still dripping and shiny with lube. Tony gripped his dick, jacked it once, loosely, and then stopped.  
  
“Grab me another condom,” he said.  
  
Steve reached for the nighstand, and then drew back. “Could we do it without?”  
  
Tony’s eyebrows popped up. “Are you shitting me? No glove, no love, you’ve heard that one, haven’t you?”  
  
“I can’t catch STDs,” Steve said. “You know that, you’ve read my medical files.”  
  
That actually made Tony pause. He’d read all about Steve’s psychotically overprotective immune system, his inability to suffer even that bane of all human existence, the common cold. How the obvious cognitive jump to venereal disease had never registered, Tony wasn’t sure.  
  
“Are you positive?” he asked. “Wait, stupid choice of words. Are you really, really sure? I get tested all the time, and I don’t have anything, but that’s a pretty big piece of trust, you know…?”  
  
Steve cocked a look at him over his shoulder. “Tony, did you miss the part of the evening where I’m telling you about how my uncle had sex with me as a child? I don’t think I could trust you any more, at this point. Plus, you watch my back every day. There’s no one more qualified.”  
  
There was nothing to say to that. Or, actually, there was, but it was so sappy and inappropriately too-soon that Tony just couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything, so he nodded instead, and Steve put his head back down. He kept his face turned to the side, so Tony could hear him speak.  
  
“So, um… He spat in my ass. He held open my cheeks, and put his thumbs on my hole, so he could open it up, and he spat right in there. It was really warm, I remember that.”  
  
Tony knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what he fucking _wanted_ to do, and he knew Steve was waiting for it. He reached down and held open Steve’s slicked up shiny ass. With his thumbs buried in there, alongside the hole that was already open and winking, ready, he pulled it apart as much as he could, and spat. It dropped in, perfect hit, and Steve’s asshole twitched closed around it, sucked it in.  
  
Steve flinched, and shuddered. “Just like that,” he murmured. “He did it a few times, and then he put my one foot down on the floor, so I was all spread apart. He told me, this might hurt a bit, and then he--”  
  
Tony was already there, shoving Steve’s thigh high on one side, to open him up wider, and he put his naked cock against that sopping hole. He hadn’t fucked bareback in so long, not since he was a dumb kid. It made him jittery, just seeing it, the way Steve’s hole was trying to pull him in.  
  
“He started pushing it into me,” said Steve. “Oh, God, he put it right up inside my bum.”  
  
“Is that what he called it?” Tony asked, panting. He was easing in, just an inch now, getting close to the flared crown of the head. “Did he call it your bum?”  
  
“Uh huh,” Steve said. “He called me Stevie, and he said, ‘This is going right up in your bum, and you can’t tell anyone. Not a fucking soul.’”  
  
“Don’t tell anyone,” Tony echoed, hoarse and cracking. “You hear me, Stevie? We’d both be in so much trouble if you told. I just need to put this up in you for a bit, and then-- and then--”  
  
He broke off, because the whole head of his cock was inside now, and Steve was clenching down on it like a soppy vice.  
  
“He got it all the way in,” Steve sobbed, “all the way inside me, and then he just stayed there for a while, sort of rocking.”  
  
Tony obeyed, sinking in deeper until his belly was flush to Steve’s ass. It was an easy glide; Steve was absolutely soaked through, and loose with desire and anticipation. Tony rode the internal flutter with careful jabs of his hips, and stayed in as far as he could go, feeling around inside for that good place, the place where--  
  
“It felt so incredible,” Steve whimpered. “There was this spot in there, he kept pushing on it.”  
  
“Hold on,” Tony breathed. “Just lemme…” He twisted a bit, moved his knees so he was lying more fully on top of Steve, chest to back. There was going to be a big red mark on Steve from the arc reactor. “Is that it? There?”  
  
“Yes!” Steve blurted. He made a noise like the tears were coming back. “Jesus, Tony, that’s it. Fuck me right there, come on--”  
  
Tony rode him with short sharp thrusts, right up in his guts where his prostate was swollen and aching, just like Uncle Cyrus, humping baby Steve into the couch… “Motherfucker,” he breathed. “How long did he last, Steve? How long did fuck your little bum?”  
  
Steve shook his head, almost beyond words. “Not long,” he choked. “He couldn’t last long. He said I was so tight.”  
  
“You are tight,” Tony told him. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. Did you get yourself off when he did this to you? Did you touch your cock and get your little kid juice all over the place?”  
  
“No,” Steve said, shaky. “I came without touching myself.”  
  
Tony had to stop, he _had_ to, and hold himself still inside, twitching helplessly on the edge of orgasm. Don’t squeeze, he implored silently. Don’t move at all.  
  
“W-what did he say when you did that?” he finally managed to ask.  
  
“He said I was a fucking slag,” Steve moaned. “He said maybe I needed to get screwed more often, because obviously I liked it so much. I told him yeah, maybe.”  
  
Tony laughed, choppy and frantic. “Of course you did. Did he do it again? Did he screw you more often?”  
  
Steve shook his head, and Tony remembered earlier, remembered him saying, ‘Once, just once.’  
  
“No, he moved out a few days after. I didn’t see him again until I was a lot older, and he never mentioned it.”  
  
Tony was a little disappointed to hear that. They could have had more scenes like this one, little Stevie and Uncle Cyrus in the bathroom, or in bed late at night, after Steve’s mom was sleeping. Maybe Uncle Cyrus could have taught Steve how to give a proper blowjob… God, Tony was an absolutely horrid excuse for a human being.  
  
“You should touch yourself,” Tony said. “Come on, grab your cock.”  
  
It was torturous, moving enough that Steve could lift up and reach under himself, hold his prick in one big hand.  
  
“Rub yourself off,” Tony said. “Go for it, you fucking slag. Come all over my cock, get it on the couch.”  
  
Steve’s elbow started to move, bent out to the side and awkward, but he probably didn’t need much at this point. Tony sure as shit didn’t. It was all he could do to ride out Steve’s own small movements.  
  
“When you came on yourself,” Tony said, “was he fucking you pretty hard? Was he pulling all the way out and jamming it back inside, long-dicking you?”  
  
“Really hard,” Steve gasped. “So hard I thought the couch was going to break. He was leaning by my head, and he was just shoving at me, in and out like a piston. Oh, God, Tony, it felt so good-- my asshole felt so good. I didn’t know it could feel like that, I’d never--”  
  
“Alright, here we go,” Tony growled. “Did he say anything when he came, do you remember?”  
  
“I-- I don’t--”  
  
“Make something up, hurry, shit.”  
  
“He said, ‘I’m jizzing up your bum,’” Steve cried. “He said, ‘Hold still, baby boy, I’m coming, it’s going up inside you--’”  
  
Tony hammered him, got his hands tight on Steve’s hips and let himself go, pounded that fine ass until he just couldn’t help it anymore, and then Steve said, “Aw, Tony, I’m-- I’m--” and started squirting on the bed. Tony felt him squeeze inside, contraction after contraction wringing him out. He rode it, rode Steve down into the mattress and nailed him in the prostate, felt the little swell of it on the tip of his dick.  
  
“I’m fucking coming,” he snarled. “I’m jizzing in your hole, baby. Hold still, oh God, there it is--” He came like Niagra Falls, the way porn hammed it up with cups of icing sugar and water. He felt it pour out in waves, flood up inside Steve’s stupid perfect ass. “You feel it?” he demanded. “There it goes, way up in there, goddamn it.”  
  
He pushed through the last of the spasms, rode the wave down to the ground, and ended slumped over Steve’s back, still nudging with his hips. It took a while to get soft, and it was excruciating, slipping out. A gush of sperm followed, and Steve made a breathy sound at the way it oozed down over his balls. Tony leaned back to watch his hole spasm, clenching around nothing.  
  
With the last of his strength, he gave Steve a swat on the ass. “I’m fucking done,” he groaned, and faceplanted into the mattress. “That might be the kinkiest thing I’ve ever participated in.”  
  
Steve was slack-jawed next to him, eyes barely open. “Thanks,” he slurred. “I think I love you.”  
  
Tony lifted his head, surprised, but by the time he'd managed to formulate even the barest beginnings of a response, Steve was already snoring.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> See what I mean? Are you horrified and sickened now? Yeah, I didn't think so. 
> 
> After writing those initial 10K words of filth and smut, I realized that there was really no proper end, and no proper beginning, and I thought 'Hmm, perhaps I can expand this into a actual story, slap a few thousand more words on each end, and things will make more sense.' And then I thought, 'Naaaaah!' So there you go. I'm not sorry.
> 
> The only thing I am sort of sorry about is how Steve has the whole blushing virgin thing going on. That's not how he is in my head, but that's sort of what happened here. Whaddaya do?
> 
> Also, I'm finally on tumblr under trillgutterbug! Come say hi!


End file.
